Show Me The Money
by anilkex
Summary: Going for something new and lighthearted. Each chapter will be a different 100 word drabble showcasing all the different ways Sam and Dean earn money for survival. It can't all be credit card scams and hustling pool. Season timing will be all over the place - depends on what strikes me. Giving it a T rating for inevitable potential language...as usual.
1. Karaoke

Sam watched Dean saunter out of the nightclub, counting a wad of bills. He gloatingly held them up, lightly smacking Sam in the chest as he made his way to the driver's side.

"Dude...I don't believe you." Sam shook his head and laughed.

"Sammy - I'm so offended." Dean flashed him a hurt look, ruined by the triumph that shone in his eyes. "You should be proud of me, in my moment of glory."

"Your moment of glory involves karaoke?"

Dean opened his door and pointed at Sam. "I told you - sometimes it's okay to sing Bon Jovi."


	2. Market Research

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to surreptitiously peek at his brother's paper. Frowning, Dean twisted around, forcing Sam to stare at his back.

Sam squirmed again, chewing the eraser. Dean was hunched over, studiously writing.

Sighing, Sam handed his paper to the woman behind the desk. She smiled politely, tucked it in a folder, and gave Sam a small, white envelope.

Sam nodded his thanks. He glanced over his shoulder at Dean, who was still writing, and left.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean emerged, shaking his head.

Sam grumbled, "I'm sorry, okay? I don't have much insight on pie!"


	3. Food Sampler

**_A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews! I'm enjoying writing these. If you have a suggestion, send it over! And I forgot..._**

**_Disclaimer for the whole series: I own nothing, I just play with other people's toys._**

* * *

"Oh...oh my god…" Dean groaned into his pillow.

Sam shook his head and handed over a small, plastic cup filled with thick, pink liquid.

Dean downed it in one gulp, uttering more pathetic noises afterwards.

"Dean...was it really worth a hundred bucks?" Sam asked, fluffling his pillow and smoothing down his hair.

Dean's eyes lit up at the memory. "Dude...it was cocktail hot dogs, these little brioche pastries, smoked salmon, asparagus spears wrapped in Kobe beef, and…" Dean held his wrist to his mouth as he burped. "Oh, yeah...totally worth it. Woulda done it for ten."


	4. Sperm Donor

The waiting room was clean, quiet, sterile.

Dean sighed, furtively glanced at the doorway, then shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

His eyes flickered briefly to the empty chair beside him, before fixating on a patch of paint flaking off the opposite wall.

He flipped through outdated fashion magazines. He counted the tiles on the floor in English and Spanish. He read the pamphlets from front to back.

Just when he thought he would lose his mind, a red-faced Sam appeared in the doorway, holding an envelope.

Standing up slowly, Dean muttered, "Please tell me you at least filled the cup..."


	5. Model for a Hair Styling School

"Sam…"

"No."

"Saaaaaaaammy…"

"_No_."

"It's not a big deal."

"Then _you _do it."

"You know I can't."

"Aw, tough shit."

"It could be fun…."

"No, it won't."

"You'll meet lots of chicks!"

"I don't care, Dean."

"Think of it as...an adventure!"

"_Lucifer's Cage_ was an adventure. _This,_ is stupid."

"It isn't stupid, Sam. They just need to practice."

"Let them practice on someone else's hair."

"But - "

"I mean it, Dean. Drop it. The answer is no."

…

"Says here that male volunteers can get a gift certificate to the local farmer's market as a bonus for helping."

...

"...Really?"


	6. Movers

Dean looked at Sam's phone, its screen showing the highlighted ad from the website. He glanced uneasily at Sam, who was frowning and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sammy...are you sure this is right?"

Sam nodded, looking around the room in distaste. "Positive…"

Sighing, Dean handed the phone back to Sam, who shoved it in his pocket. Both men looked at each other dubiously, then squared their shoulders.

"Alright...if we're gonna do this, then let's just...do this...and get it over with."

They picked up boxes labelled "Supernatural, The Series", and staggered to the waiting truck.


	7. Store Clearance Sign Holder

The wind shifted from the North to the East, as Sam shifted from his left to his right foot. The melting snow had already leaked through his shoes, soaking his feet and sending a chill through him.

A sudden gust caught the sign at just the right angle, almost sending him sprawling into the busy street. Catching himself at the last second, heart pounding, he straightened it.

A Dean-sized penguin waddled over, almost slipping on a patch of ice. He shoved an angry wing in Sam's face. "Be careful, dammit! I'm not scraping you off the intersection in this suit!"


	8. Santa's Little Helpers

_**A/N: Thank you for all the awesome reviews! I'm really having fun with these!**_

* * *

It was unavoidable. Sparkling snowflakes, shimmering presents, cheery music, screaming children, stressed-out parents.

The holidays were upon them.

Sam rolled his eyes as he pulled the itchy, form fitting, green tights out of his ass.

Dean ducked behind a fiber optic tree so he could adjust his protesting junk, trapped within bright red spandex.

Santa marched over and pointed a finger in their faces. "Would you two idjits get back over here and bring me some goddamn children so I can pretend to grant their every wish?" He stomped back to his chair, muttering about frickin' holidays and damn Winchesters.


	9. Nude Model

Dean walked inside, carrying bags of supplies he knew Sam needed. He hummed as he unpacked everything, laying them out on the table.

Sam stirred, the sheets and blanket rustling softly on his bed. Dean counted down in his head. As soon as he reached one, Sam pitched forward and sneezed viciously into the motel comforter.

Grimacing in disgust, Dean brought over a box of lotiony Kleenex, which his brother hungrily snatched and immediately used.

Dean sat next to him, a sympathetic smile on his face. "It's February...I can't believe they wouldn't even let you keep your socks on…"


	10. Underwear Model

Sam walked inside, carrying bags of supplies he knew Dean needed. He hummed as he unpacked everything, laying them out on the table.

Dean stirred, the sheets and blanket rustling softly on his bed. Sam counted down in his head. As soon as he reached one, Dean rolled over, hissing in pain, his eyes tightly squeezed shut.

Wincing, Sam brought over allergy meds and calamine lotion, which his brother hungrily snatched, and immediately used.

Sam sat next to him, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Well, at least now we know you're horribly allergic to that type of engineered polyester…"


	11. Sperm Donor, Part 2

Dean whistled a merry tune as he sauntered into the building. Armed with a recent copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_ rolled up under his arm, he confidently waggled his eyebrows at the receptionist and sat in the waiting room.

Sam uncomfortably waited in the car, trying to focus on a book about ancient Irish Lore instead of why he was killing time in a parking lot.

Thirty minutes later, a red-faced Dean opened the passenger door and sat inside with a huff, no envelope in sight.

Sam raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Scowling, Dean muttered, "Apparently, enthusiasm can affect your aim…"


	12. Sperm Donor, Part 3

Dean absently tapped his fingers to the beat of Blue Oyster Cult against the steering wheel. Sam rolled his eyes for the hundredth time, and continued to read about Irish lore. The back door opened, and Cas sat down, handing a white envelope to Dean. His normally impassive face was wrinkled with confusion. "How was it?" Dean asked. Cas shrugged helplessly. "I really didn't understand what I was supposed to do." Both brothers turned around. "What? But...you got paid…" Cas nodded. "The woman said I deserved to get paid for giving her the best laugh she's had in years." 


	13. Sperm Donor, Part 4

_**A/N: I'm having a lot of fun with these - and apparently you like them. :) Thank you so much for the nice reviews! **_

* * *

Sam was almost finished with his book on Irish Lore, having made several notes in his journal.

Dean was almost finished with a dozen donuts, having dribbled blobs of jelly on _his_ journal.

"This isn't going to work," he grumbled.

"Probably not, but are _you_ going to tell him that?"

Dean snorted, proceeding to lick his fingers clean.

Bobby sauntered across the parking lot, hands in his pockets, and climbed into the backseat.

"So, um, how'd it go?" Dean asked hesitantly, peering at Bobby from the rear view mirror.

Bobby's face broke into a grin, as he produced _two_ envelopes.


	14. Server at a Themed Wedding

_**A/N: I feel like I peaked with all the sperm donations...** _

* * *

Dean growled as he made his way towards Sam, who was avidly listening to the speaker at the front of the room.

"I don't care how much they're paying - I can't do this anymore."

Sam shushed him, and gestured to a platter of fresh seafood. "Go pass that out or something."

Dean huffed, putting his hands on his hips. "You pass it out...I'm not walking around anymore."

"Dude, this guy is really fascinating. He's _actually from Hawaii_ - you could learn something, you know."

Dean rolled his eyes and stomped away, his grass skirt swishing with every step.


	15. Leaflet Passer Outers

Sam and Dean stood on opposite corners each with a pile of papers.

Sam smiled and used His Eyes, convincing strangers to take flyers.

Dean rolled _his_ eyes, waving the stack at random people, earning dirty glares and outraged gasps.

Finally, Dean stomped over, scowling. "This is stupid. Let's go."

Sam huffed, "Dean...stop thinking, and just do it."

"I can't, Sammy...okay? I can't..." Sam watched Dean's anger fade into anguish.

"Okay...it's okay, Dean. Let's...just go..."

One brochure fluttered out of the garbage can as they walked away, headline reading: "Repent Now! The Apocalypse Is Upon Us!"


	16. Ghost Writer

"Whatcha doin', Sammy?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, brow furrowed, fingers clicking against the keyboard.

Curious, Dean tried to peek. Sam just huffed, swiveling the screen away. "Dude...knock it off - I'm working."

"But….we _just finished_ a job."

"I'm writing an article for a blog."

"Really? What about?"

Sam blushed a deep red.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmm…." Dean sang.

Sam sighed and shoved the laptop at Dean, stomping into the bathroom and slamming the door.

Dean took one look at the title, then went to cajole his baby brother out of the bathroom.

"Ten Ways To Improve Your Sibling Relationship"


	17. Ghost Writer, Part 2

Not to be outdone, Dean clicked away at his laptop, softly humming to himself.

Bobby and Sam walked into the kitchen, eyeing Dean's furrow of concentration warily.

"That can't be his 'I'm looking at porn' face," Bobby muttered.

Sam shook his head, taking off his jacket. "No...and trust me, you _really_ don't want to know that face."

Bobby grunted appreciatively, laying his cap on the table.

"Whatcha up to, Tiger?" Sam asked lightly.

"Trying that ghost writer thing."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, are you writing about?"

"Duh - Decorative Tips for Crimping Your Holiday Pie".


	18. Ghost Writer, Part 3

_**A/N: Bobby demanded an extra 50 words, because he knows he's my favorite character. And when Bobby demands, I must obey. **_

* * *

When the Impala's rumble faded away, Bobby leaned against the doorframe and sighed.

He hated it when they left; hated not knowing what they were doing every minute of every day, because when he didn't know, he couldn't help.

He just worried.

Bobby reflected on this last visit - the beer they drank, the tv they watched, the food they enjoyed.

He also remembered the stitches he sewed, the bruises he iced, the scrapes he bandaged.

Not to mention the secrets they shared, the advice he gave, the shoulder he loaned when the reality of life was too much to bear.

Trudging over to his computer, Bobby sat with a grunt and opened his article.

Although alone, he still glanced around before hastily wiping an eye that suddenly filled with tears.

_Get a grip, Singer_, he told himself as he continued to write:

_Surrogate Parenting: Loving Them Like They're Yours_


	19. Ghost Writer, Part 4

_**Bobby wasn't done…** _

* * *

When the Impala's rumble faded away, Bobby leaned against the doorframe and sighed.

Occasionally, he loved it when they left...having his house back to himself. Because as much as he loves them, Bobby needs his space sometimes.

He reflected on this last visit - the beer they puked, the tv they fought over, the food they inhaled.

He also remembered Dean's infected cut he insisted was just "in an awkward stage of healing" and the lump he swears caused a concussion, but Sam thinks is just a big ingrown hair.

Not to mention the constant brotherly bickering, the advice they ritualistically ignored, and his shoulder they insisted they didn't need, because they were "just fine".

Trudging over to his computer, Bobby sat with a grunt and opened his latest article.

Although alone, he still glanced around before saluting the universe with a beer.

_They're Idjits, But They're **My** Idjits_


	20. Grape Squishers

_**A/N: OKAY! I think I hit my mark at 20 chapters. Thanks for all the kind reviews! I had fun with these!**_

* * *

Sam had to admit, out of all the jobs they'd taken, this one ranked at the top of ridiculous. And considering their lives, that was saying something.

"C'mon, Sammy! We don't wanna be late!" Dean was practically running across the field.

They patiently stood in line while the supervisor ritualistically scrubbed them down, handing over vinyl aprons.

Sam gingerly stepped into the enormous wooden barrel, his face scrunching as he acclimated to the bizarre texture.

Dean vaulted the barrel, landing with a sickening squish, and passed Sam a beer. "This has to be the best thing we've done...like, ever!"


End file.
